


The Heart of Everything, aka Mahanon March Madness

by Kagetsukai



Series: Month-long Writing Challenge [1]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Casual Sex, Character Death, Cunnilingus, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Gen, Jealousy, Light Bondage, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, Oral Sex, Smut, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-03-27 08:13:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 12,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13876806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kagetsukai/pseuds/Kagetsukai
Summary: Mahanon Lavellan is a 38 year old tracker from the Clan Lavellan who became the Inquisitor when Thedas needed him most. Along the way, many weird and exciting things happened, but the most extraordinary thing was him falling in love with Josephine Montilyet. These are some short stories about his life with the Inquisition.====================================================Written for a March writing challenge on Tumblr. The original prompt post can be foundhere.





	1. Binary

“Yes or no, Sera,” Mahanon asked once more, his voice as level as he could manage it. “Did you purposefully spoil Josephine’s creams?”

The girl pouted and crossed her arms.

“Fine. Yes. I did!” she finally admitted and screwed up her face in distaste “But it wasn’t on purpose, ya see? It was a prank! I didn’t know she won’t look at the chilling rune until supper! I didn’t mean it!”

Mahanon took a really deep breath and exhaled slowly while his hands swiped down his face.

“I believe you, Sera,” he replied. “Apparently those creams are incredibly expensive and exceptionally difficult to procure. I do not pretend to understand what purpose they serve, but I certainly do not wish to be disturbed at night by my sobbing Ambassador again. Do I make myself clear?”

Sera huffed and tightened her arms around her body; her defiant glare spoke volumes about what she thought of his directive. Mahanon knew he needed to redirect that youthful rage and desire for mischief.

“Why not prank the visiting Orlesians instead?” he suggested and moved to put an arm around the still-pouting elf. He lowered his voice, “I have it on good authority that they _love_ having their slippers filled with horseshit, first thing in the morning. It’s part of their beauty routine.”

Sera immediately stiffened in his embrace, leaned back just enough to look at his face and squinted suspiciously.

“Wait, the high and mighty Inky is suggesting a prank?” A slow smile spread across her lips. “Wanna come with? It could be fun.”

Mahanon winked and gave her a small smirk.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”


	2. Mastery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> VERY NSFW!!! You have been warned.

She keened and sighed and whimpered as Mahanon’s skilled fingers caressed that one spot inside of her body as his mouth worked tirelessly against her tiny bundle of nerves. He was losing sensation in his lips, but he’d rather die than let his Josephine down. Soon he felt her thighs trembling against his shoulders, so he doubled his efforts in bringing his lover over the edge of pleasure. Her quiet moans intensified in volume, but when she finally reached her peak, it was with a high-pitched sigh and a full-body shiver.

Mahanon continued lapping at her swollen sex, hoping to prolong her satisfaction, but when she finally whined in discomfort, he pulled away with a smirk. He moved up and knelt between her limp legs, watching as her sweaty, sprawled body quivered with the aftershocks of her climax. Her eyes were still closed and the expression of euphoria brightened her gorgeous face.

He was nowhere near done with her, of course. He leaned in and pressed a tender kiss to her navel, just beneath her belly button, and continued the trek up her body, making sure to once again pay extra attention to the generous curve of her breasts. Elven women were never this endowed and the fact that he could enjoy this much flesh excited him beyond words - his straining erection was the proof of that.

By the time Mahanon leaned in to nuzzle Josephine’s neck, she had regained her senses and reached around his shoulders to pull him closer. He felt a low giggle vibrate through her body so he moved up to kiss her mouth again.

“What so funny?” he asked.

She opened her eyes and grinned up at him.

“You sure know how to pleasure a woman, Mahanon,” she told him.

The way she said his name sent chills down his spine and a slow smile crept onto his face in response. He gently rocked his hips against her core, making sure she could feel how ready he was for her, and watched as Josephine’s expression darkened with desire.

“I’m not done with you yet, vhenan,” he murmured.

And with that, he leaned back in to steal her breath with a kiss.


	3. Storyteller

“And that’s how Hawke defeated the dragon,” Varric finished with a flourish.

Several of the refugees that had gathered around the dwarf whooped and clapped in appreciation of the story. Mahanon smiled to himself; the two weeks they had already spent in Hinterlands have done a lot to raise spirits of the people stuck between the rock and a hard place. Watching the faces of children light up at the promise of a story about the Champion of Kirkwall had been a pleasure.

“Maybe our Herald will tell the next story?” Varric called out to him, breaking his reverie. “I can only assume that Clan Lavellan has fought some great beasts in the past?”

Immediately everybody’s faces turned to him and Mahanon felt caught, like a wild animal in one of his traps. He shifted in his seat a little and looked around, not sure what to say.

“I’m afraid I’m not as great of a storyteller as you are, Varric,” he demurred. “Besides, our clan focused mostly on trade. The biggest animal we’ve fought was a druffalo.”

The children whined in disappointment and promptly turned back to Varric, their faces lit up with expectation. For his part, the dwarf shot Mahanon a quick dirty look and smiled down at the kids.

“Okay, fine. Have you heard the story of how Hawke defeated the evil Arishok?” he intoned.

Various shouts of ‘no’ rang around the campfire and Mahanon leaned back, settling in to listen to yet another overblown story of Hawke’s exploits.


	4. Shadows

_“Run Adahleni, run!” ripped out of Mahanon’s throat as he watched his Bonded turn on her heel and do just that._

_She was not fast enough, though, and a wicked blade sliced across her back, spraying blood everywhere._

_“NO!” he screamed and rushed forward._

_He was too late. The darkspawn she had been dodging drove two swords into her back, killing Adahleni in an instant, and moved on to face Mahanon. It had a self-satisfied kind of a look about him._

_“You’ll pay for this!” Mahanon roared._

…and woke up in his bed in Haven, drenched in sweat.

His heart thudded wildly against his chest and his breath came in short, rapid intervals. It took what felt like forever to calm himself down and realize he was not in any danger, and the woman he had loved with all of his soul had died almost twenty years before.

He groaned to himself and pressed his hands against his eyes, feeling the moisture there. This was not a new nightmare for him, but it’s been a while since he’s had it. As he lay there, staring at the blank ceiling, all he could think of was the shadow of a woman whose face he could barely remember.


	5. Agnes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s the thing: I didn’t want to create a new character just to name them Agnes, because that’s dangerous (you name a random OC and then they come to life and then they want a story - NO, THANK YOU). So I went and looked up the meaning of the name and came up with “pure” and “holy”. Let’s go with something that’s pure then!

The screaming and the noises coming out of the birthing tent kept Mahanon on his toes the entire time Adahleni was in there. At some point he had lost track of time, of how long it took for their little one to arrive in this world. He could feel the excitement of the entire clan; children weren’t common, after all, and the fact that they’ve conceived so easily was lauded as a good omen.

And then a new kind of scream joined the fray and Mahanon’s stomach bottomed out. There it was, his child, his progeny, blood of his blood he was already prepared to defend to his death. He took a few long strides towards the tent and stopped at its mouth, staring, as a tiny bundle got placed in Adahleni’s trembling arms. The elder women of their clan settled the new mother onto prepared bedding and beckoned him closer.

“You may see them now, Mahanon,” one of midwives said.

He almost charged inside, he was so eager to be at Adahleni’s side. When he saw them up close, the child all bundled up and fussy, and the mother all sweaty and exhausted, a proud grin spread over his normally stoic face. Mahanon dropped to his knees, placed his arms around his tiny family, and looked into a curious face of a baby girl.

“Greetings, little one,” he intoned, his voice breaking with unshed tears. “I am your father and I will protect you with my life.”

In his heart of hearts, Mahanon knew this to be an unshakable truth.


	6. Strike a Pose

Mahanon thought the whole idea preposterous, but he had long since given up on trying to go against the most intelligent and shrewd women he knew. He stood perfectly still, his right hand resting on Vivienne’s shoulder blade and his left one providing a perfect rest for her right palm. He was trying to learn the proper form for a waltz, but no matter what he did, Josephine would not be satisfied.

“You’re moving too stiffly, Inquisitor,” she kept repeating in her melodic voice. “This is a dance, not a march into battle.”

“Yet when I relax my posture, you tell me I slouch,” he replied, his patience slowly wearing thin. “Which is it?”

A moment of frustrated silence fell in the room, only broken when Vivienne took a small step back, out of Mahanon’s grasp, and looked down at him with a quirked eyebrow.

“Lady Josephine,” she began. “Perhaps our dear Inquisitor would feel more comfortable dancing with a woman who is less… towering?” she finished with a pointed glance at the Antivan.

To Mahanon’s great surprise - and pleasure - he watched as Josephine’s face colored ever so slightly and she cleared her throat as if she was put out.

“Of course. We will have to find someone more suitable--” 

“I meant you, Lady Josephine. You are a phenomenal dancer, and I’m sure Inquisitor Lavellan would benefit greatly from your expertise. I see no reason why you couldn’t teach him directly.”

A curious exchange of meaningful glances passed between the two women, while Mahanon stood there, not clued in to the subtext; it didn’t seem important and most likely involved something courtly he had yet to learn. So he stood there, waiting, until Josephine made a decision and moved to stand in front of him.

“I hope this is agreeable with you, Inquisitor,” she said quietly.

As he took her in his waiting arms, placed his hands where he was supposed to, and smiled down at his slightly-pink Ambassador.

“More than agreeable,” he whispered between them and stepped into the waltz.


	7. Unread

Mahanon sat at his desk and stared at the unopened letter in front of him. Normally he would open his correspondence in a timely matter, preferring to get it over with than dragging his feet, but this… this was different. Small, crooked letters he knew well featured prominently on the blank envelope, taunting him, challenging him to rip into the paper and read what was on the inside.

_Inquisitor Mahanon of Clan Lavellan, Skyhold_

He had been waiting for this letter, an answer to a prayer he had sent weeks before. Would his Keeper understand his heart, his desire? Or would the fact that he chose to love a human woman forever ban him from stepping among his kin?

After what felt like an eternity, after anxiously staring down his unwitting adversary, he leaned forward and picked up the envelope.


	8. Sports

“I’m sorry, what?”

Mahanon stood across his desk from Josephine and stared at her with growing incredulity. For her part, Josie looked a little embarrassed and discomfited.

“The invitation came from Arl Eamon, Inquisitor,” she replied. “As I’ve said, I think the arl is trying to remind other Fereldan banns that he still has enough influence to invite--”

“No, no, that I understood,” Mahanon cut in. “What I do _not_ understand is what he wants me to participate in. What do you mean, hunting foxes for sport?”

Josephine sighed and absently rubbed at her forehead.

“Apparently it’s a very popular thing among the Fereldan nobility,” she explained. “It involves hunting dogs rounding up foxes for their masters to shoot at with their bows, while they’re on horseback. I don’t pretend to understand the appeal, but it’s a tradition among them.”

The sudden righteous anger that filled Mahanon surprised even him, but when he opened his mouth, he was calm and collected; it wouldn’t do to frighten his ambassador with shouting.

“I don’t think these people understand what sport is,” he said slowly, his words strained. “To me, sport is when you make a leather-covered ball and kick it around on grass. Tag is a game. If you want to use archery, shooting at a target could be a good sport. Rounding up animals to kill like fish in a barrel is _not_ sport.”

Josephine was going to say something more, but Mahanon cut her off again.

“I decline the invitation. I don’t care what you tell them, Josephine, but I will not participate in needless slaughter. It’s… unbecoming.”

She stared at him for a moment, her face unreadable. “Are you sure, Inquisitor?”

The side-glance he gave her was perhaps a little harder than he had intended, but he was angry and wanted his point across. To her credit, instead of objecting, Josephine smirked.

“I will pass on the message immediately,” she said and spun around to leave.

She didn’t see it, but Mahanon watched her walk away with a fond smile that lit up his normally stoic face, anger fading away as quickly as it had arrived. She also didn’t notice how his gaze most definitely trailed lower than it was appropriate.


	9. Judgement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of a sequel to a story I wrote on Tumblr. It's not necessary for enjoyment of *this* drabble, but if you want, you can find it [here](https://kagetsukai.tumblr.com/post/166154290751/tell-me-for-mahanon-and-josephine-like-a-love).

The likelihood that Thom Rainier could see anger roiling inside of Mahanon was high, if judging by the way the man would not relax his stance, even after receiving the verdict: life with the Wardens after the defeat of Corypheus. As the guards approached Rainier to take him away, he didn’t resist at all and went quietly, obediently. It was infuriating, to say the least.

It had been pure torture to have to listen to Josephine’s breaking voice as she started the proceedings, her emotions clearly written on her face. Mahanon wanted to murder Blackwall just for that, just for making _her_ suffer. Weren’t lovers supposed to tell each other everything? Why hadn’t Blackwall told Josephine that he wasn’t Blackwall? Why couldn’t he have spared her the torment? How selfish did one have to be to inflict so much pain on the loveliest woman in the world?

When Mahanon chose to bring not-Blackwall back to Skyhold, he had thought to look the other man in the eye and get answers to all of those questions. In the end, all he could say were a few official-sounding things before he cast judgement; he was too angry to actually speak his mind. And now he watched as the hunched figure vanished behind a door and the small crowd gathered for the spectacle started dispersing.

Mahanon turned to Cullen.

“Commander,” he intoned, his voice clipped and terse. “You have Thom Rainier at your disposal. I doubt I will ever be able to trust that man at my back, but he is still a skilled warrior and may be useful in training others. Stick him in the forward camps or send him to assist Captain Rylen, I care not. Understood?”

Cullen’s jaw clenched as his expression darkened.

“Yes, Inquisitor,” he replied. 

Knowing there would be no more judgements that day, Mahanon got up from the throne so it could be stowed away. He turned to walk back to his quarters when he noticed Josephine staring at him with big eyes. Her gaze, fragile and shaky, was surprisingly unreadable. He let himself step closer to her.

“I’m sorry it has come to this, my lady,” he whispered. He gently touched her elbow and traced the stiff joint with his thumb. “For what it’s worth, he tried to do good in the end.”

His words must have jarred something inside of her, because Josephine blinked and finally looked at Mahanon with a clear emotion - incredulity.

“You defend him still? He lied to every single one of us and put the Inquisition in great peril,” she argued quietly.

Mahanon smiled, though he didn’t feel any joy. He let go of Josephine arm and nodded his head.

“Men have done much worse things to gain favor of a beautiful woman, I’m afraid.”

Her breath hitched a little, eyes widened, but Mahanon had no more energy left to discern what that might mean. He stepped away in long, purposeful strides that announced to anybody who paid attention that the Inquisitor was done for the day.


	10. Little Birds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of a sequel to the previous prompt.

Daily missives from the Spymaster were usually delivered by one of her trusted runners, so when she stepped in front of his desk, Mahanon looked up with no small measure of surprise.

“Sister Leliana,” he said. “I was not expecting you this morning. Did something happen?”

She smiled in reply and a cold chill that ran down Mahanon’s back immediately put him on alert.

“Of course not, dear Inquisitor,” she replied with a sweet smile that never reached her eyes. “I just wished to stretch my legs. Staying in one spot can be tiresome, yes?”

Why this woman insisted on playing her mind games, Mahanon did not know. After all, nobody with half a brain cell would ever mistake Leliana for anything than an apex predator that was waiting for a moment of weakness to pounce and devour. Perhaps it was the Orlesian in her that thrived on manipulation, or maybe her background as a bard; either way, he tried to indulge her desire for misdirection.

“You should get out more,” he offered carefully. “I hear Val Royeaux is gorgeous this time of year, if you like such things.”

A low amused chuckle escaped her lips.

“Indeed,” she agreed. “Perhaps after the war is over and we have all the time in the world to travel?”

Mahanon nodded, expecting more. Thankfully, he didn’t have to wait for long.

“You know, a little bird told me a most peculiar rumor after yesterday’s judgement,” she began again.

The mention of Blackwall’s judgement killed any and all amusement Mahanon might have felt. He pinned Leliana with a hard stare, hoping she understood he was not in the mood to discuss it.

“I despise idle chatter, Leliana. You know this,” he said with a growl.

Leliana lifted one perfect eyebrow. “Even if it pertains to our Lady Ambassador?”

Just one mention of Josephine brought back the memories of the day before and all the anger he had felt at the time. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

“I have no patience for your games, Leliana. Speak plainly or leave,” he spat out. “That judgement was hard enough without you needlessly prodding at an open wound.”

To her credit, Leliana’s coy demeanor changed immediately, her posture turning to that of a spymaster.

“Very well, then,” she quipped. “I’m here to tell you that your assumptions pertaining Blackwall and Josephine are completely wrong. Just because he attempted courting her doesn’t mean she accepted him. As a matter of fact, they were never in a relationship of any sort.”

An interesting mix of relief, happiness and confusion bloomed inside of Mahanon’s chest, though he tried his damndest to remain impassive on the outside. Above all else, he hated when others tried to stick their nose into his personal matters.

“I am happy to hear Blackwall’s betrayal didn’t affect Lady Josephine as deeply as I had assumed it did,” he replied. “Granted, I am confused why you felt the need to come all the way her to tell me this. Her business is none of mine.”

Those words, while accurate, hurt to speak out loud. As if knowing his true heart, Leliana narrowed her eyes a little and tilted her head in a way reminiscent of her crows. The look in her eyes spoke volumes about what she thought of his impartiality, though she clearly chose not to voice it. Instead, she shook her head and turned to leave.

“She may not see the way you look at her, but I am not blind,” she threw behind her back. “Make your move, Inquisitor, before she finds someone who actually wants her.”

If she had stuck around, she would have found Mahanon’s shocked expression particularly entertaining.


	11. A Snail's Pace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is VERY NSFW!! You have been warned.

Josephine had insisted that his hands be tied to the bedpost for this activity and Mahanon had readily obliged her request. The fact that she knew how to tie such an effective knot impressed him greatly, but it wasn’t until she started slowly stripping her clothing that he truly appreciated her skill.

Mahanon watched with rapt attention as she peeled away each and every piece of cloth with slow precision, as she grinned impishly every time he twitched in place or groaned in his throat. His blood roared in his ears the moment the last lacy underthing hit the floor, because his beloved was naked before him and he could not reach out to touch her. He wanted her, to claim her again and again, but the ties held.

“So impatient, my Mahanon,” she cooed in her melodious voice.

He did his best to tame the growl that rose in his throat, but it only seemed to delight Josephine more. She swayed her hips ever so slightly, prompting her breasts to bounce with the motion, and Mahanon actually _saw_ his clothed cock twitch in anticipation. 

“Josephine,” he said with another groan.

Her smile became borderline predatory as she reached for his trouser ties and tenderly unlaced them one by one. He tried bucking against her hand for relief, but she only tsk-ed at him.

“Now, now,” she chided. “You always take your sweet time with me. It’s my turn.”

And with that long, sensual gaze pinned to his face, she lowered her mouth over his rock-hard cock.


	12. He Died. I Smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Character death.

Years had washed out the once-visible vallaslin, graying together with his skin, his hair; dulling his eyes. Still, when Mahanon looked at Josephine for the last time, his gentle smile was as loving as that first time back in Skyhold.

“My lovely… Josephine,” he rasped, and took his final breath.

Overwhelming sadness ripped through her with the force of a hurricane, but it didn’t last. She had known this was coming and she had prepared herself. Mahanon had insisted that she didn’t grieve for him and she had made that promise readily. After all, she had her own plans already in place.

From a pocket on her belt pouch, she took out a small vial of black liquid, uncorked it, drained it in one gulp, and tossed it in the bin. Once done, she laid down next to her still-warm husband and cuddled up against his shoulder. A tender smile bloomed on her face as her eyes drooped closed.

“Do not worry, my love,” she whispered sleepily. “I will see you again, soon.”


	13. Gutless

Corypheus had shown his hand: _come back to Haven, Inquisitor, and face your nemesis in a final battle_. As a small group of highly trained individuals prepared in a hurry for a trip across Frostbacks, Mahanon stood on top of the stairs to the main hall and stared at the ominous green swirl in the sky.

He felt someone stop next to him.

“Even the greatest of men would tremble in the face of such adversity,” Mahanon said and glanced down at Varric. “I look at the Breach and feel like a coward.”

For his part, Varric stayed silent for a long moment, eyeing the Breach with unease and distrust. Then it was all gone, familiar bravado firmly back in place.

“There’s one way to fix that,” he quipped. “Don’t look at the Breach.” 

With a guffaw, he left Mahanon behind to ponder how strangely pragmatic was Varric’s suggestion.


	14. Raw Wood

This was to be Mahanon’s last visit for a long time. He had been assigned a task by his Keeper, one that would take him far, far away, across the sea and into cold, inhospitable land of the shemlen, so he enjoyed the last moments of warmth in the shade of an oak tree. He had brought food to eat at midday, but it stayed in its satchel, untouched, as he sat with his back against the rough bark and thought of the woman for whom the tree was planted.

_Adahleni._

If he closed his eyes, he could almost hear her voice in the rustling of leaves…

In the past, he would visit her tree anytime he felt lonely or overwhelmed, and the peace he felt while in the shade would rejuvenate him for weeks. Now he felt a sense of dread and apprehension, knowing it would be months before he could sit against the slender trunk again.

“Papae?”

Mahanon opened his eyes and looked up at his daughter. She had a worried look about her and he did not blame her; this mission could prove fatal if he came across particularly rough wildlife. Or aggressive humans. So he put on a brave face and smiled at her.

“Yes?”

Leena sighed heavily. “I wish you didn’t have to go. You could at least take me with you?”

Mahanon gave her a gently scolding look and shook his head.

“My darling, you know that’s not how it works,” he said. He reached out a hand and guided her to sit next to him. There was something terribly heartbreaking about the two of them, sitting under Adahleni’s tree, and talking about going apart. Still, he tried to cheer her up. “I’ll be back before you know it. Just in time for midsummer festivities.”

Leena giggled as she cuddled closer to him.

“Is that a promise?” she asked quietly.

Mahanon took a deep breath and looked down on his daughter.

“Promise.”


	15. Telephone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anybody not familiar, a game of telephone is all about misheard words and hilarious reveals. I hope I have provided both.

Josephine was trying really hard to appear casual and nonchalant as she slowly moved about the room, mingling, nodding, smiling. She had never been to the Winter Palace before and its splendor was breathtaking, but tonight was more than just about the party itself. Tonight, they would stop Corypheus from overturning the Orlesian empire.

A gentle hand slid against her elbow and it took Josephine half a breath to remember her training. She paused. 

“If I could have a moment of your time?” said a very familiar voice.

It was Mahanon - of course - and Josephine’s heart did a little stutter in her chest. Still, she slowly turned to him and smiled her pleasant, courtly smile.

“Of course, Inquisitor,” she said and inclined her head to indicate they should walk and talk. “Did you find out anything of interest to our cause?”

After months of observation, Josephine recognized the little twitches in his faces as irritation, though the smile that bloomed on his face was pleasant and steady.

“I’m not sure if it’s important, but the rumor mill of Orlais sure is grinding hard tonight,” he said, then lowered his voice. “Just within the last hour I’ve gone from the uncouth savage to an exotic commodity, complete with ponderings on the size of my endowment. Comparisons to various animals were downright baffling.”

His… _endowment_? Josephine sincerely hoped the blush she could feel blooming on her face was not as visible on her dark skin as she feared. Just the thought of Mahanon naked and in a sexual situation was enough to send her body into a frantic overdrive. _Deep breaths, Josephine,_ she reminded herself. She chanced a quick side-glance at Mahanon and noticed how his mouth now had quirked in amusement as well.

“You said that on purpose to fluster me,” she accused him. 

The sly grin that appeared on his face made him look entirely too pleased with himself and Josephine felt her face change into a smile. She watched, as he gave her a mischievous wink, before schooling his face into a more neutral expression.

“I’m sorry if I was too crass,” he said. “You seemed incredibly tense and I wanted to bring a smile to your face, if only for a moment.”

Josephine stared, for once not able to come up with an appropriate retort. All sorts of butterflies took flight in her stomach and her lungs stopped working like they should as she continued staring into the depths of his dark eyes. In the end, her brain kicked in enough to continue the conversation.

“Thank you,” she whispered and smiled. “It has been incredibly stressful to make sure tonight goes on without trouble.”

Mahanon nodded in agreement, then furrowed his brows.

“Which reminds me,” he said. “There is something strange going on in the servants quarters…”


	16. In Sight

Mahanon hadn’t wanted to be so public about the whole affair, but when Lord Otranto had challenged him to a duel, he couldn’t refuse - it seemed the quickest way to get rid of the inconvenient marriage arrangement. And when they fought, Val Royeaux seemed to have held its breath, waiting to see blood drawn on its cobblestones. Of course, that was not meant to be when the Antivan withdrew the betrothal.

And now Mahanon stood in the middle of the market square, his arms firmly around Josephine’s body, kissing her like there was no tomorrow. Had he really shouted his feelings for all to hear? That had been most unlike him, but when the stakes were this high, drastic measures were required.

“Josephine,” he finally murmured against her lips. “Josephine, we should move to a more private setting.”

She tilted back just enough to peer into his eyes and Mahanon noted how happy and dazed she looked. The smile that graced her face next was both coy and flirty.

“Whatever you desire, my lord,” she replied.

His fingers reflexively gripped at her hips as he felt his body respond with a primal desire for this woman. They had yet shared a bed as he had refused to touch a woman who technically belonged to another man. But now? Now he wanted Josephine naked beneath him, screaming his name for all to hear.

“My desire for you is rather singular, my lady Josephine,” he murmured, willing her to understand what he meant.

Thankfully, she did not shy away from him.

“I’m sure you've taken rooms,” she said quietly. “We can go there now… if you want.”

Mahanon smiled. He gently extracted himself from around Josephine, took one of her hands in his, and looped it around his arm. Their joint steps were measured and careful, but their hearts raced forward in anticipation of what was to come.


	17. 9/11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 9/11 is the kind of prompt that doesn't pertain to Thedas at all. That being said, I took it to mean a major catastrophe that changes everything. One of those events in DA:I was the fall of Haven.

The ground shook.

There was also a dragon in the sky, a massive army of red lyrium Templars, and a tall, darkspawn-looking creature that definitely wanted Mahanon dead. For his part, Mahanon didn’t want to die just yet, so he made sure to throw everything he had at the enemies.

Too bad he didn’t have much.

They were fighting a losing battle and at this point, all he wanted was to save as many as he could. He kept corralling people towards the Chantry, saving stragglers from burning buildings, and holding off as many foes as he could.

The tide did not change.

He learned everything he needed to know from Cullen’s grim expression as they discussed last-ditch options: there would be no survival at the end of this battle, not for Mahanon.

“Let that thing hear you,” were Cullen’s parting words as the remnants of the Inquisition gathered up and fled through the back door.

With a final glance around him, Mahanon silently said goodbye to all he had grown to love and appreciate. A gold and blue dress flashed among the crowd and for a brief second Mahanon saw Josephine’s face, focused and determined, directing the refugees towards relative safety of the path outside.

He left the Chantry then, but with a silent vow that even if that was his last thing he did, he would save the woman who always believed in him.


	18. Nailed It

Mahanon opened the door to Cullen’s office just in time to see the man throw daggers into a training dummy that stood in the corner; two of the blades sank into the chest and the third one lodged itself into the head.

“Impressive,” Mahanon commented. “I didn’t realize you were proficient with daggers.”

Cullen smiled his signature half-smile and moved to collect his knives.

“As a Templar, I was expected to be capable of picking up any weapon in order to subdue an enemy,” he said. “Outside of the standard sword and shield, I have also trained with daggers, the staff, a bow, and a maul. That being said, do not ask me to go against an expert in those fields or you will see me fail spectacularly.”

Mahanon nodded along. It all made sense, of course; if a Templar was out searching for an escaped apostate, knowing how to hunt with a bow would be valuable.

“And you like to keep those skills sharp, I presume?” he asked.

Cullen’s face fell a little as he shot a glance at the battered dummy.

“Something like that,” he said quietly, then cleared his throat. “Kirwall... was not a peaceful place by any stretch of the imagination and it was extremely easy to get lost inside of your head. Throwing daggers at a training dummy was just one of the ways of how I tried to keep focus.”

Mahanon stared at Cullen, at the deep ridges that lined his face, the dark circles that accentuated his eyes, and wondered just what kind of horrors this man had seen to make him so world-weary. After all, there couldn’t be more than a decade of difference in age between them.

“Well,” Mahanon said. “Let me know if you’d like any pointers. After all, daggers are my primary weapon.”

The sorrowful look on Cullen’s face slowly shifted into a small smirk.

“Perhaps I will, Inquisitor," he replied. "Perhaps I will…”


	19. Whiskey

Mahanon was deep in his thoughts when he heard a quiet click of the downstairs door and a familiar shuffle of heavy boots going up the stairs. He also didn’t move from his spot in front of the fireplace when Cullen rounded the banister with a deeply brown bottle in his hand.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Cullen?” Mahanon asked and turned to look at his visitor.

For his part, Cullen looked both determined and unsure as he gripped the bottle in his hand and brought it up between them.

“I just finished reading your report from the Frostback Basin. I feel like you could use a drink.”

Mahanon smiled what felt like the first smile in weeks and pointed to the spot on the other end of the couch. He stood up to grab two snifters as Cullen settled in.

“You’re not wrong,” Mahanon commented while holding up both glasses to be filled. “Though perhaps not for the reasons you might think.”

“Oh?” Cullen asked as he took his drink from Mahanon’s hand. “Dare I ask?”

Mahanon shrugged in response and took a small sip of the honey-colored liquor. It burned going down his throat, just enough to remind him that he was still alive and very much a man.

“I’m gathering courage to speak with Lady Josephine about my regard for her.”

Strangely, Cullen barely reacted to the news, a lot less than Mahanon would have expected if it had been a surprise.

“You are aware of my feeling for her, I take it?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

Cullen smirked, his eyes dancing with soft amusement. He took a quick sip of his own whiskey and leaned back against the sofa.

“At this point in time, the only one who is blind to your obvious regard is Josephine herself,” he quipped, “though I have a feeling even that might be coming to an end.”

Mahanon smiled again.

“You might be right,” he replied. “Especially if _I_ have something to say about that.”

Cullen nodded; he then reached out his glass to Mahanon and they clinked it together in mutual agreement. 

“To a successful conclusion of your matters, Inquisitor,” Cullen toasted and they both downed their whiskey.


	20. Petal

There had been glances furtively cast across the war table as the four of them pondered the fate of the Inquisition. Mahanon had been a gentleman in every way, of course; Josephine suspected that his interest in her may have been purely academic, as a Dalish man who had never seen a proper diplomat hard at work. Still, she liked to imagine there was more to his soft gaze than just curiosity.

When the flowers started appearing on her desk, nobody could tell her where they came from, but deep down, Josephine hoped they were from Mahanon. It sounded like the kind of subtle, sweet thing he would do. And they were always wildflowers, different-colored and fragrant in ways she wasn’t used to.

Today’s bunch included a whole lot of yellow flowers that looked like daisies, but smelled like the mountains. She took one of the blossoms in her hand and - on a whim - started picking at the petals.

“He loves me,” she murmured after one of them fell on the desk. “He loves me not. He loves me. He loves me not.”

It was a childish game, and she would clean up her mess after she was done, but when the last petal fell, a soft smile full of hope bloomed on her face.

“He loves me.”


	21. Language

It had been a long afternoon of going through correspondence, etiquette lessons, and language practice, so Josephine was not surprised when Mahanon suddenly slammed his dictionary shut and tossed it across the large desktop. He got up from his chair and paced back and forth a few steps.

“This is useless,” he growled.

She had expected the outburst, truth be told. He had been cooped up in one place for almost five days while they were waiting for more information from Val Royeaux. While Mahanon understood the reasons for the delay, he was a man of action and staying idle in one place made him restless.

“What is useless, Herald?” she asked in the most neutral tone she could muster.

He glared at her, but there was no bite to it.

“You are trying to shape a Dalish elf into a man capable of interacting with these pompous shemlen,” he spat out. “It is folly”

Josephine stood up from her chair and came up to Mahanon. She put a gentle hand on his arm and gave him an encouraging smile.

“You have been reading missives for the past four hours and the letter you’re getting through right now is written in a language even _I_ find appalling,” she points out. “I’d like to remind you that just a month ago you could barely write your own name in Common and today, you are going through your own correspondence. Your rate of improvement is astounding, even if you don’t see it yourself.”

At her impassioned words, Mahanon closed his eyes and raised his fingers to press them to the bridge of his nose. He was clearly getting a headache, which would not do.

“How about this, I’ll order some tea and we can try finishing the letters after a break,” she suggested. “I heard our baker Mira has made some cranberry scones.”

He opened his eyes again and looked at her, searching.

“Were you aware that cranberries are my favorite or is this a coincidence?” he asked, suspicious.

Her eyes danced with amusement.

“I will never tell,” she said with a smile and flitted away to find a servant to fetch them tea.


	22. I messed up

“You are _what_?” came out of Mahanon’s lips before he could stop himself.

They were sitting together on the sofa in front of the fireplace, their bodies touching ever-so-slightly at the knees, though his sudden outburst made Josephine flinch away from him just enough to make it sting. She looked down at her neatly folded hands and Mahanon watched as her fingers flexed back and forth.

“Oh. You don’t want to keep it. I mean… There are herbs that can help, of course,” she started rambling again, “and I’m not that far along so we can correct this mista--”

He didn’t let her finish that sentence; he pressed his fingers to her lips to still them and they continued to stare into each other’s eyes, both searching for answers to their own questions. Mahanon had been in this situation before, so many years ago that he had almost forgotten what it felt like: the excitement, the uncertainty, the fear. Only his age and experience let him keep his cool long enough to reassure Josephine.

Mahanon took her darling face in his palms and leaned in to give her a tender kiss. She stiffened at first, but it didn’t take long for her to melt into the caress. Once he felt her relax enough to continue, he broke away.

“Josephine. My sweet, darling Josephine,” he murmured against her face, as he pressed their foreheads together. “What makes you think I don’t want this?”

Her breath caught in her throat.

“It is most inconvenient,” she pointed out quietly. “Corypheus might be dead but there is so much work to do, still. And then there’s your clan and how they would react. You said it yourself: a child between us would mean you would never be able to return to live with the Dalish again.”

Mahanon shook his head, surprised she did not know his heart yet. 

“I have fulfilled my duty to my people and I have fulfilled my duty to Thedas,” he retorted. “Now my duty is to you and no power in the world could ever tear me away.” He paused. “I understand that you are panicked and you’re unsure - I am too - but know this: if you choose to keep this child, I will love both of you from the bottom of my heart, for as long as I breathe.”

They sat there, barely entwined with each other as the fire crackled in the background. Josephine’s eyes were round and soft and terrified, but the thin sheen of fear and uncertainty did not take root. Instead, a small flicker of hope sparked in her face and she sighed.

“Are you sure you’d be okay with this?” she asked, her voice still shaky. 

Mahanon leaned in to place a brief kiss on Josephine’s cheek.

“Yes, of course,” he replied with ease. “The thought of seeing you heavy with child is rather appealing. And you’d make a phenomenal mother.”

A sharp spark of scrutiny glinted in Josephine’s eyes and Mahanon smirked at the return of her confidence.

“If you think even for a minute that I will give up my work as an Ambassador for the Inquisition just because I am pregnant, then...” she said pointedly. “Well, I’m not going to.”

Mahanon’s face split into a full smile as he placed his arm around the woman he loved - and now the mother of his unborn child - and placed another kiss to her cheek.

“I’d be disappointed if you did, my love,” he chuckled into her hair.


	23. Earpiece

When Mahanon first had offered to lend an ear to Josephine’s endless stories about visiting nobility, he had expected to be bored out of his mind. What he hadn’t expected was the fact that Josephine had a natural ability to make even the most uninspired gossip sound interesting and worth listening to. It also didn’t hurt that while telling said stories, she would get extremely animated - so much more than her usual diplomat’s facade. She would move her hands around while her face would animate to reflect different emotions and reactions. It was glorious.

That’s why they were now sitting on his sofa, a tea service on the table in front of them, though Mahanon was having a hard time concentrating on her words. Josephine had to have done something new to her lips, because they were particularly shiny that day, and he couldn’t stop looking at them. The matters got worse when she bit at the corner of her mouth and her tongue snuck out to wet her drying lips. After that, Mahanon barely paid further attention.

“Your Worship?” he heard suddenly, Josephine’s voice clearly hurt. “You really don’t have to indulge me if it bores you.”

He immediately focused on her eyes and noticed he had been caught staring at the fascinating birthmark on her cheek. He cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry, Lady Montilyet,” he replied. _Quick! He desperately needed to come up with an excuse that didn’t paint him as a lecherous creeper._ “I… I did not wish to say anything before, but… you have a piece of hair sticking out in a most enchanting way.”

There was no such thing happening, of course, but the thought of being in disarray derailed any previous thoughts Josephine may have had. She immediately reached to her elaborate plait and started groping around to find the place where the offending hair might have been. She wasn’t going to find any, but her obvious distress gave him an idea.

“May I?” he asked gently. “I have experience with stubborn hair. Namely, my own.”

Josephine stared at him for a moment, clearly judging her options, but soon her sensibilities won out. 

“If it isn’t too much of a hassle,” she replied and moved a little closer. “My mother always said that my hair was a reflection of my personality: strong and with its own mind.”

With an indulgent smile, Mahanon slowly reached out to Josephine’s hair, gently gathered any flyaways he could, and tucked them away into the braid. It was much softer and thicker than he had imagined and he could clearly smell the bouquet of floral oils she used in her shampoos. It was wonderful and he wanted to bury his hands deeper.

Their eyes met then and suddenly Mahanon was drowning in hazel eyes that sparkled like the stars. They sat still, as if afraid that any stray motion would break the magic of the moment, though Mahanon could definitely feel a peculiar pull towards her lips. Would they feel as soft as they look?

A loud crash of downstairs door against a wall broke the spell and Mahanon found himself on the opposite side of the chasm that was the space between him and Josephine. They slid back to their previous positions and pretended nothing had happened while the runner related the most recent “urgent” message from nobility in the main hall.


	24. Bunny

“This should be all for today,” Mahanon announced with a quick glance around the war table.

They could have gone on longer, but Josephine had been sick the past few days and Mahanon - with Cullen and Leliana’s blessing - refused to let her work longer than absolutely necessary. Even now, done with the council, she moved slowly towards the door to sit at her desk and write more correspondence. No matter what any of them told her, she refused to take a break. 

That all came to an abrupt stop when Josephine paused at her chair and a small sound of distress escaped her mouth.

“What is wrong?” Leliana asked, immediately going to Josephine’s side.

All three of them crowded around the desk, only to get stared back by a fierce-looking tabby cat sitting on the chair with a limp rabbit hanging from its mouth. 

Mahanon tried his best to hide his amusement for the sake of Josephine’s delicate sensibilities. By now, he was quite familiar with the feline penchant for capturing live prey only to gift it to weaker and sick individuals. He himself had been gifted a half-dead mouse after one time he came back to Skyhold cut up and hurt.

“I think this cat is trying to help you get healthy again, Lady Montilyet,” he commented.

Cullen made a sound that suspiciously sounded like a snort and Leliana bit her lip to keep from smiling too widely. Josephine was _not_ amused.

“I don’t want these animals on my chair. I sit here! How do I get rid of it?” she asked, pointing to the cat. 

The cat seemed completely unperturbed by the whole experience. It chose that particular moment to drop the rabbit onto the cushion and start cleaning its own paw. Josephine seemed at the edge of hysterics over the display of nonchalance. 

Mahanon shook his head, exasperated. “I’ll get rid of it for you, my lady,” he offered.

The tabby tried to swat him away when he leaned in to grab the rabbit, but this wasn’t Mahanon’s first time. He unceremoniously shoved the cat off the seat - it yowled with indignation - and took the rabbit by the scruff of its neck; it was still alive, but barely.

“I’ll be in my quarters if anybody needs me,” he announced and left with the rabbit in his hands.

Josephine would later assume he had let the animal back out into the garden and Mahanon would not correct her. She didn’t have to know the rabbit had been too wounded to survive and had ended up as dinner for the serving staff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just for the record, when I first set out to write this prompt, the bunny was supposed to survive. I'm not sure where I went wrong...


	25. No Charge

The rain on the Storm Coast was unforgiving and unrelenting, but it mattered little in the face of impending violence. There were Venatori agents everywhere, a huge battleship sitting in the bay, and a promise of an alliance hinging on loss of people that Mahanon had become quite close with. He stared up at the Iron Bull, disbelieving there was even a choice in the matter at hand.

“Call the retreat, Bull,” he said finally, as if his directive mattered.

The words must have been what the Qunari needed to shake off the trance-like stillness he had adopted while watching the Venatori creep towards his people. He reached for the horn and the moment its call echoed through the air, the Chargers fell back into the treeline.

Gatt was angry at once and lashed out at Bull, calling him all sorts of names. Mahanon knew he should care more about the impending loss of life on the Qunari dreadnought, but he only felt relief.

No Chargers would die that day.


	26. Mixed Messages

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of a continuation of [Chapter 7](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13876806/chapters/31976514), though it kind of ran away from me and turned into something else.

Mahanon should have known that his Keeper would not have sent a straightforward answer to his query. There was a lot of flowery language about duty and tradition, but what he wanted to know most, he had to figure out from context.

“Papae?” Leena asked.

She had come to see him the moment she found out he had a message from the clan. After all, this would pertain to her as well. Mahanon sighed heavily.

“Keeper Deshanna is extremely proud of my accomplishments as a Dalish Inquisitor and wishes me safe travels wherever my feet may take me,” he replied. There was more, of course. “Reading between the lines, she’s terribly displeased that I’ve chosen a human lover and would not approve of having her among our people.”

Leena’s face crumbled.

“That’s not good...”

Mahanon stood up from his seat and took a few steps back and forth. He had been expecting this particular response, but it still hurt.

“It could have been worse, my dear,” he tried to calm his daughter. “I get a feeling I will not get turned out if I go to visit. After all, I bring a lot of prestige to clan Lavellan by being the one who fought and defeated Corypheus. I understand her thinking; Deshanna would probably show me off to other clans, if given the chance.”

Leena’s scoffed. “She wants prestige for herself, it has nothing to do with you. The fact that she refuses to take you back speaks volumes about her character.”

Mahanon shook his head. He sat down next to Leena and took her hands in his.

“Daughter of mine,” he intoned. “I already suspected I would not be returning to clan Lavellan. One does not thwart an ancient darkspawn magister and then go back to a quiet life among the Dalish. Being the Inquisitor has changed who I am.”

“But these shemlen don’t fully accept you either!” Leena protested. “I’ve heard what their nobles say about you. About us.”

Mahanon nodded along.

“Once the Inquisition comes to an end, I will make sure to be as far from Orlesian court as physically possible,” he said with conviction. Then his expression softened, “I hear Antiva City is beautiful.”

Understanding painted Leena’s face.

“You mean to follow Josephine,” she whispered. Her expression quickly changed to anger and outrage. “You mean to leave me behind - again! - and go cavorting with a human across Thedas. You have no regard for my feelings, do you?”

Mahanon frowned. This wasn’t how he pictured this conversation happening.

“We’re both adults, I thought you’d understand…”

“But you’re my father and I still need you!” she cried out.

This was getting ridiculous. “It’s not like I can just leave Josephine behind to fend for herself. She’s pregnant. With _my_ child - and your sibling.”

“That shemlen child is no sibling of mine,” Leena spat out.

His hand moved before Mahanon registered what he was doing, but the sharp sting he felt as his palm hit her cheek was vivid and soul-crushing.

“You will remember who you are talking to, da’len,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “You are my firstborn, a daughter that I love, but you have become a spoiled girl and I will not tolerate this behavior. You will never speak of Josephine, of our child, in that way again, understood?”

Leena stared back at him, her hand against the redness on her cheek and tears in her eyes. She still did not reply.

“Do you understand, da’len,” Mahanon growled, his anger prickling at his skin.

She nodded quickly, recoiling from his glare. “Yes, papae.”

He was getting to old for this, Mahanon realized. He leaned back from her and pressed his fingers against his temple.

“You should leave now, before we say more things that hurt us,” he said.

Leena clearly didn’t wait to be told twice and sprinted away from his side. Mahanon leaned against his sofa and sighed. Where had he gone wrong?


	27. Delicious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you're reading this, keep in mind that elves have really good hearing and Mahanon always knows if anybody has entered his rooms.

Josephine carefully opened the door to the Inquisitor’s quarters and began her trek up the long stairs. The ninth bell had just finished tolling and it was time for the daily rundown of his responsibilities for the day. She was rushing to get that done, so she could promptly return to her stack of correspondence, neatly arranged on her desk. Perhaps that was why, when she rounded the balustrade, the view in front of her startled her.

Mahanon Lavellan, the Inquisitor, the Herald of Blessed Andraste, was doing a series of stretching exercises while not wearing his shirt. And he did not notice her entrance.

By some unknown miracle, the noise that wanted to escape Josephine’s throat died prematurely, as her eyes involuntarily traced the slow, careful movement of the elven man. She was on the opposite side of the room from him, yet she could still see the careful and deliberate flex of his upper back muscles. Every time he shifted his arms, she watched as his body bent to his whims in a flow that reminded her so much of a dance she once saw. She should have cleared her throat, she should have announced her presence at once, but the slow shift of his body from one position to another kept her transfixed and paralyzed. 

Did he always have such a beautiful body? Josephine knew the Inquisitor was lean and strong and fast, but to see all that power first-hand brought a delightful shiver down her spine. Oh, to be able to run her hands down the expanse of his skin and feel the press of his chest against hers...

Deep brown eyes met hazel ones and Josephine felt her face heat with the power of her blush. She had been caught staring! She quickly averted her face and cleared her throat.

“I- ummm- I’m here with your schedule for the day, Your Worship,” she intoned, praying her voice would not betray her.

Out of the corner of her eye she could see the Inquisitor putting his shirt back on while Josephine tried really hard not to dwell on vivid images of his naked body seared into her mind. She already knew what she would be thinking about later that night, as her hand traveled between her thighs. That being said, she didn’t need _him_ to know that as well.


	28. Cold, Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it's not clear from the narrative, this happens at the very beginning of the Inquisition, just as they were trying to establish themselves in Hinterlands.

The Hinterlands Crossroads were accommodating to the Inquisition members in more ways than one, that’s for sure. Mahanon carefully crawled out of a tiny tent and tied it closed behind him. He made sure to smooth out all of his clothing and check that all weapons were accounted for. Satisfied that nothing was out of place, he directed his steps towards Inquisition tents. It was just before daybreak so not many people milled about; mostly, he passed the night watch soldiers who barely gave him a nod as he passed.

Seeker Cassandra sat at a small fire, her brooding features crinkled in disapproval. He had yet to see the woman truly smile and wondered if he ever would - this business with the Breach weighed on everybody’s mind. Still, he went to sit on the opposite side from her, hoping to warm up in the cold morning.

“You were gone the entire night,” Cassandra said, her voice quiet and sharp.

Mahanon looked up from the fire and frowned.

“Yes. What of it?”

Her scowl deepened.

“You should be careful how you spend your nights, Herald,” she said. “Some women would want to conceive a child of yours, just for a chance the Inquisition would pay their keep.”

The suggestion, delivered so bluntly, chafed at Mahanon’s sensibilities.

“I’m not an inexperienced youth who spills his seed without a care, Seeker,” he bit out. “You cannot fault me for wanting reprieve while the world around me is crumbling. And it’s not like I left _her_ wanting either.”

The implication raised color to the Seeker’s face, but her frown did not go away. She narrowed her eyes at him and sighed.

“I understand that you may have… needs. I just ask that you be careful.” She paused. “This world state is too precarious to risk such things.”

Mahanon hated that at his age he was being told whom he could or could not bed, but he felt too weary to argue Seeker’s points. He sighed deeply and nodded once.

“Fine,” he agreed. “I’ll be careful.”

Cassandra stood up and stretched a little. She looked down at him for a moment, her expression unreadable.

“Thank you, Herald.”

And before he could tell her to stop being so formal around him, she stepped away to attend to her own business.


	29. Lips Touch

_“Take moments of happiness where you find them.  
The world will take the rest.”_

Ameridan’s words played over and over again in Mahanon’s head as he stood on the balcony and looked at the sun setting over the mountains. Moments of happiness had been hard to find between Adamant, fall of Haven and Corypheus’ insistence on overthrowing Orlais. So many dead, sick and displaced needed his attention all at once and he had only so much of himself to give. There was little time to take pleasure in the little things.

Faced with reality of his solitary position, Mahanon finally realized just how much he had put on the table without asking for anything in return. He had wanted to save the world, make sure everybody could live in peace. After he had come back from the Frostback Basin, he stepped into the main hall and listened; so much gossip, so much vitriol filled the walls of his keep and most of it painted him as the villain.

He heard a quiet click of the door downstairs and a surge of anxiety sped up his blood. This was it, the moment of truth with all the cards on the table. He would not hold back, he would bare his heart to her, and hope he could come out whole on the other side. 

Mahanon stepped back inside and waited for his eyes to re-adjust to the firelight in his room. He watched as Josephine stepped around the balustrade and paused, hesitant. Their eyes met. He would never get used to the way her presence - her gaze - arrested him in place. How many times had he pondered throwing all propriety to the wind, taking her lovely face in his hands, and kissing her until he ran out breath? That was why he needed to speak to her _now_.

“Your Worship, you sent for me?” she asked, voice unsure.

He tried to smile reassuringly. “Yes, I did. Thank you for coming, Lady Montilyet.” He pointed to the sofa - his favorite place to use while talking with others - and waited for her to sit down before taking a seat himself.

They were within arm’s reach of each other, their usual distance when conducting business, but it felt like an ocean apart with Mahanon’s heavy thoughts creating a barrier between them. Would she accept him? Or would she let him down easy? She had readily accepted him as the Inquisitor, but would she see him as the man he was, or as a Dalish elf who could never vie for attention of a noblewoman.

“Is everything alright, Inquisitor?” she asked quietly.

 _This was getting truly ridiculous_ , Mahanon realized. He was behaving like an untested youth in front of a woman who was kind, gracious, and incredibly intelligent. All he had to do was present his plight and pray she didn’t hate him afterward. He straightened his back and cleared his throat.

“Yes and no, I’m afraid,” he admitted, but before she could interject, he raised his palm to stop her. “Please don’t be alarmed, Lady Montilyet. This is merely a personal matter I wish to lay before you.”

The air between them shifted immediately. It was like everything stilled in place, holding itself in anticipation of what would happen next. Mahanon felt a faint drop of sweat trail down his spine and wondered briefly if Josephine could hear his heartbeat - it was deafening in his own ears.

“I…” he started and stopped. Would his tongue ever cooperate? “As you know, a few days ago I returned from the Frostback Basin where I had the honor of meeting Inquisitor Ameridan.”

She nodded in assent. “I’ve read the reports, of course.”

He smiled briefly at her. _Of course_.

“Some of his last words made me realize that I’ve been going about things in a completely backward way,” Mahanon continued. It was becoming difficult to keep eye contact with Josephine but he would do it. “Ameridan sacrificed everything in his life, only to be forgotten and twisted by history. He made me realize I did not want to be the victim of similar treatment.”

Mahanon desperately wanted to hold her hand while he told Josephine of his feelings, but stopped himself from touching her - he didn’t want to pressure her into anything she didn’t want.

“You… may have noticed I have been flirty... with you,” he started. 

The words felt juvenile and hollow in his mouth, but it was too late to take them back. For her part, Josephine inhaled sharply and a lovely tint of pink dusted across her brown cheeks. 

“Yes, I have,” she replied and looked down at her folded hands. “And I am incredibly flattered.”

For once Mahanon couldn’t tell if she was being genuine or merely polite for his sake. He chose to carry on, desperation coloring his voice.

“I wasn’t sure if you…” he trailed off. “I hope my attentions weren’t untoward.”

She looked up again and frowned.

“Untoward?” she asked. “Inquisitor, I’m not naive enough to think you meant anything by your flirtations. I know how the Game works and you have not offended me.”

Mahanon stared at Josephine, completely at a loss for words. She thought he hadn’t been serious! Was it already too late to convince her of sincerity of his feelings?

“Lady Josephine,” he intoned, “you are a beautiful woman, and of much higher birth than myself, so forgive me if I wasn’t more bold with my affection.” He finally reached for her hands and clasped his fingers around her folded ones. “Please understand that it’s more than just a game to me; I have grown to care for you deeply and I can no longer stay silent about it.”

Their hands stayed linked as Josephine’s face froze in stunned silence. It immediately put Mahanon on edge and he felt the need to explain himself further.

“I wasn’t going to say anything at all,” he continued. “We are still at war and there is so much to do, and we are of such different social classes - I know how nobility would ostracise you for associating with me. But after I met Ameridan… I realized I had to speak up before it was too late. And if this displeases you, just say the word and I will forever--”

The world tumbled a little as the hand he had placed over Josephine’s propelled him forward with the help of her tug. He had had an entire speech prepared, discussing and divulging the depth and breadth of his feelings for her, but it all poofed into thin air the moment her lips touched his for a brief, chaste kiss. Once she pulled away, it was his turn to sit in stunned silence as her eyes twinkled in amusement.

“You talk too much,” she quipped.

Something about her tone, the sheer happiness in her face, brought back Mahanon’s confidence in full force. Unwilling to break their linked hands, he slid closer to her - thigh to thigh - and revelled in the delicious gasp that escaped her throat. He chanced an indulgent smile.

“Lies and slander, my lady,” he replied. “Whoever has been spreading rumors should be punished immediately.”

Josephine giggled delicately, a sound so lovely and pure it filled Mahanon’s heart and made it swell with joy. It couldn’t be this easy, could it? He had expected resistance, unwillingness to break social norms or racial barriers, yet here he was, a breath away from kissing her for a second time and she seemed perfectly content with the prospect. 

He lifted his other hand and tenderly cupped her jaw; she leaned into the caress willingly.

“Are you sure you are alright with this?” he whispered. “I can’t believe you’d want this, that you’d want _me_.”

Her shining smile dimmed a little at his words, but it was only replaced with determination.

“Of course I want you,” she announced, as if it was the law. “What a preposterous idea to think otherwise. Now please, do kiss me again before I wake up and this is all a dream.”

An almost possessive hum rumbled in his chest as he leaned in and indulged her request. He lingered, hoping to memorize her taste and feel all in one go. The hand he had kept in her palm detangled and snaked around Josephine’s soft waist, pressing her even closer to his body. Mahanon had heard Andrastians speak of heaven before - he was certain this was it.

“If this is a dream,” he said in between kisses, “then I don’t want to wake up either.”

She laughed in response, which quickly turned into a quiet moan as his mouth found hers again. Mahanon was certain: in that moment in time, not even Corypheus could have dampened his happiness.


	30. Crosshairs

Mahanon had been standing with Varric and talking about Kirkwall when the assassin struck. A commotion in the stables disrupted their conversation and made them both look in the direction of spooked horses and unsettled stable-hands. There was something fabricated about that whole picture so Mahanon immediately moved forward, instinct telling him to go and investigate, in case more had to be done.

It saved his life.

He felt a subtle touch against his back, something tenderly brushing against his leather armor in a way Mahanon found all too familiar. In a split second, he twisted with the motion to face his opponent, his daggers leaping into his hands as if on their own. Their exchange was quick and brutal, blade striking blade in a lethal dance that only one of them would win. The woman who had attacked him was quick and nimble, but she had not been prepared for his quick reflexes. By the time Varric pulled up his crossbow to help, the fight was over and the assassin lay on the ground, bleeding out of her throat.

“Who sent you?” Mahanon demanded as he leaned over her dying body.

A bloody grin and insane eyes were enough to disquiet Mahanon’s heart, but the garbled reply was even worse.

“Your days are numbered, false Herald,” she wheezed. “Long live the Elder One.”

His advisors would be displeased about her death, when they later reconvened in the Chantry to discuss the assassination attempt. While the four of them argued semantics, all Mahanon could feel was the ghost of a slice that had been meant for his heart.


	31. Doctor

The door closed quietly behind Josephine as she entered the room they had been calling their own for the past few days. The Empress had been generous, even if she had tried to influence the result of the Exalted Council. This was also the room where she had to watch Mahanon get his horrific wound cauterized, as he bled onto the sheets and rumbled quietly about Solas’ evil plot. She never knew she would want to leave Val Royeaux as quickly as she did now.

A quick glance around revealed an empty bed, a fact that sent Josephine’s heart racing. She had worried so much that she had lost Mahanon forever - first to the stray magic of the Anchor and then to the wound that Solas inflicted - that not seeing him where she had expected him to be sent panic through her veins.

Finally, her eyes caught a glimpse of a person standing on the balcony beyond billowing curtains and she slowly moved in that direction. Mahanon stood just outside the door, staring out into the nighttime sky, unmoving. 

Normally, he could hear her coming from what felt like a mile away, but now he was so deep in thought he hadn’t noticed her arrival until she stopped right next to him. Even then, he barely flinched.

“The healers said you should rest as much as possible,” she pointed out.

The quiet scoff that escaped his mouth spoke volumes of what he thought about the healers and their directives.

“It is not in my nature to stay in sick bed until I rot of old age,” he quipped. “I needed fresh air while I pondered a few things.”

Josephine noted how Mahanon reached for his left hand with his right and found it lacking. He tried to adjust, but the injury was still raw and he flinched with pain at his own clumsiness. She didn’t make a comment about it, wanting to preserve his dignity. 

“And did you make any conclusion, my love?” she asked.

He shifted closer and placed a gentle arm around her back; she reciprocated by placing her hand around his waist. It was familiar and calming.

“Nothing we haven’t discussed already,” he said evenly. “Tomorrow, when I face the Council once more, I will dissolve the Inquisition. I’m sure there will be consequences we haven’t predicted, so we will deal with those. Then,” he paused and turned to look at her, “we will travel to Antiva so you can finally see your parents.”

“And so you can meet them at last,” she reminded him gently.

He nodded. “That too.” Then his face hardened into a scowl Josephine hadn’t seen in a long time. “And once I know our family is safely out of harm’s way, I’m going to bring war to Solas’ doorstep.”

The suddenly proclamation startled Josephine and she leaned back to look at Mahanon’s face. He was angry, she could see it now, so angry that the normally gentle eyes shone bright with the steel in his gaze. She shuddered; she hated this side of Mahanon.

“He has an army at his back, Mahanon…” she started.

His hand at her back twitched as he gripped at the fabric.

“So we will raise an army to match his,” he snarled. “Solas used me, wormed his way into my good graces and pretended to be a friend. I was his experiment, his way of finding out what he could achieve on his own. I will _not_ stand for that. I _will_ find him and I _will_ defeat him.”

He was agitated now, the angry energy vibrating within his body and making him breathe harder. He shifted out of her gentle grasp and paced back and forth along the balcony, his mind clearly working overtime. Then he stopped, looked down at his missing left arm and visibly deflated.

“If only I wasn’t a fraction of a man…” he trailed off. “Yet another thing to blame Solas for...”

Emotions warred for dominance in Josephine’s heart as she watched her beloved fight his inner demons. She wanted to take him away from it all, keep him in the relative quiet of Antiva where they could live out their lives until an old age. But she also knew he needed this, needed this new conflict that flamed his blood and focused his mind, if he ever hoped to move past this new disability.

Josephine stepped up to Mahanon, gently grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer for a quick kiss.

“You are not less of a man just because you’ve been injured,” she announced to him in no uncertain terms. “You are strong, and bold, and resourceful, and you will accomplish everything you set your mind to. There is nothing you cannot do and Solas will curse the day he chose to cross you.”

Her passionate words must have sunk in, because Mahanon stared back, his eyes slightly widened and face stilled in amazement. A few breaths passed between them before he leaned in and cradled Josephine against his chest. This was familiar, this was safe, and she took in a long, shaky breath.

“I am a lucky man to have you at my side, Josephine,” he murmured into her hair. “I don’t know how I have survived without you for so long.”

She huffed a laugh. She didn’t need to open her eyes to know he was smiling as well.

“You’re a strong man, Mahanon. Stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

They kissed then, an undemanding caress that warmed her soul and calmed her spirit. Mahanon was still here, very much alive and in her arms. In that moment, nothing could tear them apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *waves*  
> We are now done with Mahanon March Madness! Thank you so very much for joining me on this journey; it sure was a doozy. There were many days where I felt like I was fighting an uphill battle and words were not happening. Others were a sheer pleasure to put down on the page. However it happened, I am grateful to my friends for keeping me afloat and motivated to keep going. THANK YOU! And as always, if you have more comments or observations or whatever, I live on [Tumblr](https://kagetsukai.tumblr.com/), so come say hi :D

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!!! This whole challenge came about because I desperately wanted to get into a habit of writing on regular basis (which I never do) and this seemed to be a good idea.
> 
> Comments & kudos are love!


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